Before the health crisis, our store had a gap in the shelving of our queue area so that customers could come straight to the till in a shortcut if they didn’t need groceries and were merely in the store to pay for fuel or buy tobacco products or confectionary. To help enforce social distancing in the queues, we’ve blocked the gap with two cardboard stands, and we have a sign clearly stating that this gap is inaccessible and to turn right to join the queue.

I’m serving a customer at the till when I spot a man trying to push his way through the partially-closed gap.

Me: “Excuse me, sir, but that area is closed. Would you please continue to your right and join the end of the queue?”

The customer waves a ten-pound note, still trying to push through.

Customer: “It’s okay. I just need to pay for my fuel.”

Me: “I understand, sir, but you need to back out and join the queue to pay for your fuel.”

Customer: “But I have the money right here! Just take it! I am on pump two! I just want to pay for my fuel!”

Me: “There are several people in the queue right now who are no doubt paying for fuel, sir. Please back out of the gap and go right to join the end of the queue.”

Customer: “Fine, then!”

I hear him mumbling and swearing to himself as he finally backs out and disappears. A few customers later, who should appear before me but the queue jumper. He slams his ten-pound note down on the counter.

Customer: “Ten pounds on pump two! Bloody ridiculous making me queue when you could have just let me pay and leave!”

Me: “I am sorry, sir, but we are in a global health crisis. Everyone has to social distance by law, and if you had come through our clearly blocked-off gap, then you would be in the personal space of the lady that I was serving and therefore breaking the law. Thank you, sir.” *Cashes out his fuel* “Have a good day.”

He stormed off. 

He was wearing a mask, he had disposable gloves on, and he was carrying a bottle that clearly contained hand sanitizer, so he clearly knew about the health crisis and the measurements we were all taking to avoid infection.

I work for a convenience store. We have a state of emergency for our area. An oil refinery that services our area has been taken out by storms, so we are facing a fuel shortage. People go insane trying to fuel up. Every gas station in the city raises their prices in response, and we’re unable to keep up with the demand, running out of fuel.

My station is in a neighboring town, and our prices lowered shortly before the emergency was declared. When people realize this, they respond by flocking to us. It’s to the point that we have security outside, directing traffic to gas pumps to keep accidents from happening. Around 90% of all transactions we do are purely for gas, and the store is packed full for nearly my entire shift.

At one point, I have a customer call and frantically ask:

Caller: “Are you out of gas?! I’ve heard the police are out there because people are getting into fistfights at the pumps!”

Me: “No, ma’am. As we’re talking right now, I’m watching our fuel truck top our tanks off. We’ve still got fuel, and we’ll probably not run out for quite some time at this rate.”

In the end, not only did we make the most money in the area on gas sales, but according to the news, every station in the neighboring city ended up being heavily fined for price gouging. For every customer they gouged, it was a $1,000 fine.

They might as well have closed their doors for the entire thing, because I’m pretty sure they lost more than they made in sales for that.

I am driving into a gas station and notice a man smoking at his parked van. The van is directly in front of a rack of propane tanks and only about thirty meters from the pumps. Where the man is standing, there are no less than three “No Smoking” signs clearly visible. I roll down my window and get his attention.

Me: “Excuse me. There’s no smoking here.”

Smoker: *Playing naïve* “Where?”

Me: “You’re in front of propane tanks; this is a gas station. There’re ‘No Smoking’ signs everywhere.”

Smoker: *Just being a jerk* “Where?”

I point at one in front of his van, above the propane.

Me: “There.”

Smoker: “That’s for over there; I’m all the way over here.” 

He gestures as if it’s a great distance. To be clear, the nose of the passenger van is practically touching the propane tanks, and he is standing next to the rear tire of the vehicle. And he’s still at a gas station, near enough to the pumps to be a concern.

Me: “The signs mean the whole area. This is a gas station.”

Smoker: “Relax, I’m not going to blow anything up. I’ve got my gas licence; I know what’s safe. It’s fine.”

I parked and walked into the station, and I spoke to a cashier and a man who appeared to be a manager or the owner. I informed them that someone was smoking in the parking lot. They were both immediately concerned, and they told me it was not permitted anywhere on premises, as I would expect.

The smoker was just entering as I finished speaking to them. I was fuming as I walked away. I hope they explained that his bad habit doesn’t give him the right to endanger other’s safety.

My boyfriend is about seven inches taller than me and much broader. We are on a six-hour car journey and we stop at a service station to get some petrol and some food. The queue for a popular burger chain is massively busy, so I recommend just buying some sandwiches which he insists against. We’re queueing for a while, and the whole time he complains incessantly. Then, he berates the young-looking cashier who’s already very apologetic when we get there. We order, she advises how long it’ll take, and then we stand to the side. My boyfriend is still complaining.

Me: “It’s busy, [Boyfriend]. Things are going to take time. It’s not their fault and certainly not that girl’s fault.”

Boyfriend: “It is their fault; they should have more workers!”

You can see that they have every station covered and the kitchen staff are running around trying to fill orders.

Me: “They have as many as they can. They’re working as hard as they can. That poor kid looked like she was about to cry.”

Boyfriend: “Good!”

Me: “Really?!”

Boyfriend: “Can’t handle it, don’t get a job like this. What is taking so long with the order?!”

Me: “It’s been a minute and a half!”

Boyfriend: “No, it’s been like… ten!”

Me: “No, that clock said 12:43 when we got to the cashier. It’s just turned 12:45.”

Boyfriend: “More than a minute!”

Me: “A minute and a half is more than a minute, but okay. It’s now been two! But certainly not ten. She said it’ll take about five to ten minutes, so we wait for ten.”

He grumbles. About three minutes go by.

Boyfriend: “I’m gonna complain!”

Me: “We need to wait for another five before investigating.”

He actually stamps his foot.

Boyfriend: “NO!”

Me: *Taken aback* “[Boyfriend], company policy—”

He gets in my face and pokes my chest.

Boyfriend: “No! It’s been too long! I’m saying it’s been too long! You don’t get to decide that it’s not been! YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO! Understand?”

I nod.

Boyfriend: “Answer me! DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND?”

Me: *Quietly* “Yes.”

Boyfriend: *Sharply* “Good.”

He notices people are looking at us and his voice and body language immediately soften.  

Boyfriend: “I… Sorry. Company policy?”

Me: *Still quietly* “I used to work for [Burger Chain] in [Hometown]. The policy is ten minutes if there are more than ten people that have ordered before they’ll investigate.”

Boyfriend: “Oh. Then… You take this. And I’ll. Walk. Yes.”

He handed me the receipt and headed off. Our food arrived in the next couple of minutes and it turned out he’d gone to get flowers plus some stuff he knew I liked to apologise to me. He said his behavior was due to hunger but that doesn’t make it okay. Being an idiot, I didn’t run for the hills but decided to take his word for it and accept his apology, eventually moving in with him. Please don’t ignore red flags; in the best-case scenario, you end up living with a parent at the age of thirty with an unhealthy, deep-rooted self-hatred.

I have an unusual name that many people mispronounce but usually can get right with some correction. My workplace also sees a lot of native Spanish speakers.

I have just finished ringing a customer up.

Customer: “Your name is [Incorrect Name]?”

Me: “It’s [Correct Name].”

Customer: “[Incorrect Name].”

One of my regular customers has queued up behind the customer. He speaks both English and Spanish.

Me: “[Correct Name]. I know, it’s a weird name.”

Customer: “Are you sure? Because in Spanish it would be [Incorrect Name].”

Me: “I’m sure. It’s [Correct Name]. Have a nice day.”

The customer starts to leave slowly, letting my regular come up. My regular smirks and speaks very loudly.

Regular: “Hola, [Correct Name]. ¿Cómo estás?”

Me: “Bien. ¿Y tú?”

This is about the limit of my Spanish and most of my regulars know this, but this regular still looked back and grinned at the other customer, who had suddenly picked up his pace!

Related:
Failed The Name Game, Part 9
Failed The Name Game, Part 8
Failed The Name Game, Part 7
Failed The Name Game, Part 6
Failed The Name Game, Part 5